I Spy
by katana96
Summary: A Sark POV fic. Starts at beginning of Season 3.
1. An Agent, An Adversary, Alive Again

Title: I Spy

Author: Katana96  
Disclaimer: I don't own Alias, or any of the characters as much as I wish I did. I am borrowing some of the dialogue for this fic. Please don't sue me!  
Rating: Probably PG-13, but I'm not quite sure how this will end up yet. Sorry, no smut, I don't want to write it.  
Spoilers: Season 3, starting with Succession, but I'm really trying to work with Alias canon, trying to incorporate the developments of Season 3 into my story (including actual dialogue), but I'm eventually going to go to an AU so don't be surprised when everything doesn't match up with Season 3.  
Distribution: SD-1 and Fanfiction.net. Anyone else, please ask.  
A/N: Italics are thoughts. This is my first try at writing fanfic after spending a good amount of time just enjoying the stuff the rest of you write. Please leave me feedback on what you think of the story. I'm also open to suggestions for what you'd like to see since I don't have the entire story mapped out yet. And if anyone wants to beta this, let me know. I'm looking for another.  
  
Chapter 1 – An Agent, An Adversary, Alive Again*  
  
"I Spy" had been his sister's favorite game and they had played it often. Sark remembered his sister fondly, the curly blond hair, blue-eyes and sweet smile, her carefree and adventurous spirit. His heart tightened as he remembered how frail she had been in the hospital moments before she died. The leukemia and chemotherapy had taken its toll on her tiny 8-year old body. Choosing to remember happier days, Sark sometimes played the "I Spy" game in his head in remembrance of her. Sark glanced around his glass and brick cell. _I spy with my little eye,_ he thought as he spotted the video camera in the corner, _a video camera capturing my every move…_ and he was transported back to the happier days of his childhood, days spent with his sister running through the green hills near their home in Galway, Ireland. The video camera had been ever present throughout Sark's early years, his father's way of attempting to be part of his children's lives while he was away in Dublin working as the Russian Ambassador to Ireland. Sark wondered if his dad had ever watched the tapes of their birthday parties and school plays. He'd never asked.   
  
Lying on his cot, Sark was about to start a set of sit-ups when he heard the sound of footsteps heading towards his cell. _High heels,_ he decided, _whoever is approaching is wearing high heels. High heels would mean a female visitor,_ Sark mused, _but in two years, the only woman they've sent down here to "talk" is that patronizing shrink Barnett who's always trying to get into my head. These footsteps sounded different though, light, like someone used to moving stealthily. But if it's not Barnett, then who is it I hear approaching? Perhaps it's Irina, finally coming to spring me out of custody._ Sark mulled over that possibility and concluded, _no, definitely not Irina, she would have gotten me out by now if she had planned on springing me. If only __Sydney__ hadn't died shortly after my capture, then I probably wouldn't be here right now. I'm Irina's right-hand man; surely she wouldn't have left me in CIA custody if she hadn't been distracted by other things._ Sark sighed. _But even I'm not foolish enough to think that Irina would choose freeing me over searching for clues to her daughter's death and exacting her revenge on those who did it. I may be her second-in-command but her daughter has always come first. That's one more reason I don't like Sydney Bristow._  
  
A maelstrom of thoughts and memories swirling through his head, Sark plastered a bored look on his face as he sat up on his cot and waited for his visitor to arrive.   
  
When he saw her, he almost blurted out "Irina?" _So she has come for me at last he thought._ The woman before him with the chestnut hair and hazel eyes was the spitting image of Irina Derevko. If Sark had been thinking clearly, he would have noticed that his visitor was clearly too young to be Irina Derevko. When she spoke, the illusion was shattered.  
  
"I wanted a word with you before you got traded."  
  
The look on Sark's face changed quickly from boredom to shock as he realized that his visitor was Sydney Bristow, not Irina Derevko. He mentally berated himself for thinking even for a moment that Irina was standing before him. Still in shock, Sark stood up and walked across his cell to find himself staring through the glass at a very much alive Sydney Bristow. "Dear God, it can't possibly be you..." he muttered. His mind was racing, _I can't believe Sydney Bristow is still alive! How did she survive her fight with Allie? The CIA found her body and the DNA matched! So if that wasn't __Sydney__'s body, whose body was it? Hopefully it wasn't Allie's. I wonder if she survived the fight. No one ever told me what had happened to her. Hopefully she's still alive somewhere. But if she is, why hasn't she tried to free me?_  
  
Oblivious to the thoughts racing through Sark's head, Sydney glared at him and sneered, "Don't start this conversation by acting _surprised_ that I'm alive."  
  
Sark was inwardly amused. _So she thinks I had something to do with her "death," does she? I wonder what role she thinks I've played in that given I've been stuck in this damn hellhole for the past two years!_ He replied coyly, "Sydney...you know how highly I regard your abilities as an operative, but...even _I_ didn't think you were capable of cheating death once your remains had been identified...which begs the question...if it wasn't your body they removed from the ashes...whose was it?" _Dammit, it's probably Allie's body. __Sydney__ killed Allie._ It took all of Sark's training to keep the grief from showing on his face. _I'm gonna kill her for this. I don't care if she's Irina's daughter._  
  
Sydney ignored Sark's inquiry, replying, "I read the transcripts of your confessions...including the fact that you and a woman named Allison Doren _killed_ my friend...Francie."  
  
"If you've read my transcript, you know how cooperative I've been" he replied smoothly. "I'll be glad to pay you the same courtesy if you simply tell me what you're getting at." _Not likely that's ever gonna happen though…_  
  
"That explosion in my apartment was a cover up...to make the CIA believe I was dead. What I believe is that Sloane abducted me, I think you know why...but you failed to mention that in your confession."  
  
Suddenly it dawned on Sark that Sydney was really clueless about what she'd been up to the past two years and she was fishing for information. _This is going to be fun._ Grinning, he responded, "If I'm to understand what you're saying, you have no idea where you've been for the last two years." _And you think I'm responsible. Too bad I wasn't._  
  
Sydney continued to glare at him through the glass.  
  
His signature smirk in place he asked again, "None?" _Is glaring at me the best you can do?_  
  
Sark was rewarded with Sydney shooting him a dirty look. He chuckled and continued to smirk at her. "Unbelievable!" he blurted out before bursting out laughing. _Sydney Bristow at a loss for words! I never thought I'd see the day!_ "I'm sorry, I don't mean to laugh, it's just...I'm speechless. Sydney, if Sloane had intended to abduct you, I wasn't privy to it." _But knowing Sloane, he probably is responsible. That damned Rambaldi obsession of his…_  
  
"What if I said I still don't believe you?"  
  
"I'd say it'd make no difference" he smirked at her again, enjoying baiting her. "In 24 hours I'll be free, and ... you'll remain in the dark." _I wouldn't tell you even if I did know, although I intend to find out what happened to you as soon as I get out of here._   
  
After staring each other down, Sydney finally gave up trying to get information out of Sark. "See you in Mexico" she said as she turned and walked away.  
  
Staring after Sydney's retreating form, Sark began to ponder the situation. _Sydney__'s alive. That changes things quite a bit. After __Sydney__'s "death," Irina probably found intel indicating __Sydney__ was alive and has spent the past two years looking for her_ he concluded. _Now that __Sydney__ has returned, I wonder if Irina'll finally attempt to rescue me. Maybe that's what this whole __Mexico__ trade operation is about. Even if it's not, I should definitely be looking for any opportunity to escape. I don't fancy continuing to inhabit this cell if I don't have to. It definitely never hurts to be prepared._  
  
Sark lay back down on his cot and started the set of sit-ups he had been about to start when Sydney arrived. As his eyes glanced at the video camera, his mind wandered back to the happy days of his childhood with his sister and the game "I Spy" that had been her favorite. Sark hadn't enjoyed the game as much the past two years as there were a very limited number of things in his cell to look at, but today's events had changed that. Moving on to a set of pushups, he smiled and thought _I spy with my little eye, an agent, an adversary, alive again,_ as he began to mentally replay what had just happened.  
  
*Dialogue from "Succession" but the rest is mine. 


	2. The Betrayal of Mr Bear

Disclaimer: I don't own anything Alias, not making any money off this, etc.

A/N: If you're reading both fics, I recommend reading Chapter 2 of "Missing Pieces of the Puzzle" before you read this chapter.

Chapter 2 – The Betrayal of Mr. Bear 

A young blond-haired boy napped upon a couch in a luxurious private plane. He dreamt he was a knight, mounted on a white horse, about to slay the dragon that terrorized his people, when the dragon spoke in his sister's voice, "Wake up Misha! I want to play!" _What? Ugh, that must be Katya. _Ignoring the cries and prodding of his insistent sister, he continued to feign sleep. After several minutes of being shaken and told to wake up, he finally gave in and opened his eyes to stare at the 5 year old, blond-haired, blue-eyed little girl standing before him.

"Katya, can't you see I'm trying to take a nap? Can we play later?" Misha mumbled sleepily.

Katya screwed her face up into her best pout. "But I'm bored Misha! Please play with me!"

When Misha didn't answer, Katya's face fell, her eyes brimming with tears and Misha knew she was about to cry. "Please, Misha?"

_Augh__, I hate making her cry._ Reluctantly, he sat up. "Sure, Katya. We can play for a little while. What would you like to play?"

Katya's grin lit up the whole room. "I want to play 'I Spy'!" Katya's excitement at this idea was plainly obvious.

Misha groaned. _Again?_ "Katya, you always want to play 'I Spy'. Let's play something else this time."

Katya pouted and put her hands on her hips. "No, Misha. 'I Spy'!"

"Alright, Katya. I'll go first. I spy…" Misha paused, looking around the cabin for an object that started with the letter "A". "I spy an apple, leftover from lunch." He pointed at a shiny red apple that sat next to the tray holding the remains of Katya's lunch.

"Okay, my turn! I spy…" Katya's eyes brightened as she scanned their cabin of the plane, looking for an object that started with the letter "B". "I spy a brown bear!" She grinned triumphantly as she held up a dark brown teddy bear.

_Not again… _"Katya, you always use Mr. Bear for 'B'. Try something else."

Katya giggled as she hugged Mr. Bear tightly. "But he's a brown bear, Misha! That starts with 'B'!"

Misha sighed. _Every game is always the same._ "Alright, Katya. Then I guess it's my turn. I spy…" he said as he scanned the cabin looking for something that started with 'C'.

An hour later, having played three games of "I Spy," Misha finally was able to convince Katya to let him go back to sleep. He had just fallen into a deep slumber when he felt someone shaking his arm, trying to wake him.

Without opening his eyes, he mumbled, "I told you to let me sleep." 

"Indeed you did, Mr. Sark. We've arrived and are about to meet my employer. You still wish to meet my employer, am I correct?" _Misha's__ dead. I'm __Sark__ now. _Sark nodded and stood up, following the dark-haired man dressed in fatigues out of the plane and into the black limo waiting for them on the airstrip. 

As he rode in the limo, Sark looked out the tinted windows, taking in his surroundings and trying to determine where he was. He simultaneously replayed the morning's events, looking for clues as to who had snatched him from the exchange this morning. Everything had happened so quickly, it was almost a blur in his mind.

~Mexico, that morning~

Knowing that it was futile to attempt to escape unharmed when in the crossfire of two groups armed to the teeth, Sark docilely followed Sydney's instructions and walked in the direction of the waiting black limos. He was almost halfway to the waiting limos, when he thought he heard a faint buzzing sound. He glanced briefly around, trying to locate the source of the sound and saw none. _You're just imagining things, __Sark__. You still hope that Irina will come to rescue you._

When he reached the other prisoner at the halfway point, Sark stopped again, indicating to the other prisoner that he should stop walking as well. _There's that buzzing sound again. I still can't tell where it's coming from though. _And then he saw them. Two helicopters appeared over the horizon, making a beeline towards the spot where Sark and the other hostage were standing. _S**t, I'm dead. I've no weapon and no place to hide._ "Get down!" Sark yelled at the other hostage, hoping that maybe the people in the helicopters hadn't seen them and would just pass them by.

The helicopters were closer now, the lead chopper opening fire on the CIA, the other firing at the Covenant. The helicopters positioned themselves with Sark and the other hostage between them, shielding them from the gunfire. The wind created by the spinning helicopter blades kicked up a whirlwind of sand, making it difficult for Sark to see what was happening. He barely made out a fatigue-clad figure jumping from the helicopter to his right, which was firing on the CIA. The man grabbed Sark and pulled him into the helicopter. As he looked out into the swirling sand outside, Sark saw another fatigue-clad man grab the other hostage and pull him into the other helicopter. Both hostages now safely aboard, the helicopters lifted off, quickly disappearing out of sight.

Sark searched for a familiar face among those in the helicopter, but found himself surrounded by strangers. _I wonder what they want with me. I guess it wouldn't hurt to ask. _

Just as he was about to do so, the helicopter landed at a private airstrip in Mexico City and the occupants of the helicopter filed out and boarded the waiting plane. A dark haired man in fatigues gestured with his gun for Sark to follow so Sark boarded the plane as well; the dark haired man with his gun trained on Sark, followed right behind him. _No point running now, it'll only get me killed._

Sark took in his new surroundings. _Soft red velvet fabric on the walls, light tan leather furniture.__ Tasteful, elegant, and extremely expensive. Whoever owns this plane is obviously very well off -and has remarkably good taste. _

As Sark glanced around the cabin, the other men reclined comfortably on a group of couches at one end of the cabin. The dark haired man whom had followed Sark into the plane stood by the door, watching Sark familiarize himself with the interior of the plane. His examination complete, Sark turned to the dark haired man standing next to him and extended his right hand toward him.  "I don't believe we've been formally introduced. You can call me Mr. Sark." 

"I know who you are Mr. Sark. I'm Simon Walker," replied the dark-haired man as he grasped Sark's hand into a firm handshake.

_Funny, I've never heard of you. _"It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance Mr. Walker. Would you mind enlightening me as to what you plan to do with me?" 

"I've been told that you're a smart fellow Mr. Sark. Why don't you tell me why you think you're here?"

_So my reputation precedes me._ A small grin crept onto Sark's face."I presume that you're not planning on killing me because if you were I'd be dead already. You could've killed me back at the exchange point instead of pulling me into this helicopter. With the ambush, you could even have made my death look like an accident. You also could have killed me at the airstrip instead of making me get on this plane. But I'm still here, so apparently I am most useful to you alive."

Simon nodded approvingly. "Very good, Mr. Sark. You're even more perceptive than I was told. And to answer your question, I'm taking you to see my employer."

_Employer?__ It figures he's a hired gun. _"And who might that be?"

"You'll see when we get there."

_Must be under orders not to tell me who he works for._"Might I ask where you are taking me Mr. Walker?"

"You can call me Simon. And I've already told you, we're going to see my employer. Make yourself comfortable, Mr. Sark. It's going to be a long flight." 

Simon brusquely walked away and rejoined his team. Having no desire to socialize with them, Sark lay down on a couch on the opposite side of the plane. He stared at the ceiling, pondering the identity of Simon's mysterious employer. _It could be almost anyone. Irina. Sloane. K -Directorate. _The names of a dozen other terrorist agencies came quickly to Sark's mind. _Best not to try anything just yet, not until I have an idea of what I'm up against._

~Back to present day, in the limo~

Sark continued to stare out the window silently as the limo pulled up to a gated estate. He could barely make out the sun setting behind them.  _We're headed east, that much I know.  Too bad I haven't a clue who wants me and for what reason._

The huge wrought-iron gates opened to let the limo in. Both sides of the driveway were flanked by immense floral gardens exploding with color. _Nice touch, it looks like a florist's dream, but it's really a general's gauntlet. The flowers don't provide much cover for anyone sneaking up to the castle. They look to be mostly roses too, and with all those thorns I'm certain it'd be rather uncomfortable for anyone to hide there. But yet to the average person, it just looks like a beautiful garden. It's so subtle, this place looks almost normal. _Sark admired the combination of beauty and tactical genius as the car reached a rotary surrounding an ornate fountain. Standing behind the fountain was an enormous castle, its design exuding strength and power. Barely visible amongst the centuries old architecture were cameras, gun emplacements, and various sensors. _Beautiful yet utterly impenetrable- whoever lives inside is definitely one to be reckoned with. And this person has just spent a tidy sum to extract me.  Could Irina be finally calling me back to her side?  If not, then I've got a whole new set of troubles to deal with.  Right now I don't really care. At least I'm no longer in that damned glass cell. _That realization brought a smile to Sark's face as he prepared to meet Simon's employer.


	3. Castle Confusion An Unexpected Twist

Previously on "I Spy"

Sark admired the combination of beauty and tactical genius as the car reached a rotary surrounding an ornate fountain. Standing behind the fountain was an enormous castle, its design exuding strength and power. Barely visible amongst the centuries old architecture were cameras, gun emplacements, and various sensors. _Beautiful yet utterly impenetrable- whoever lives inside is definitely one to be reckoned with. And this person has just spent a tidy sum to extract me.  Could Irina be finally calling me back to her side?  If not, then I've got a whole new set of troubles to deal with.  Right now I don't really care. At least I'm no longer in that damned glass cell. _That realization brought a smile to Sark's face as he prepared to meet Simon's employer.

Chapter 3 – Castle Confusion – An Unexpected Twist 

"Are you coming inside, Mr. Sark? Or have you changed your mind about meeting my employer?" 

_He sounds rather annoyed at me. I wonder why. _"I'm coming," Sark replied gruffly as he cautiously stepped out of the limo. The sun had set just and it took Sark's eyes a little time to adjust to the darkness. He was about to comment on the beautiful castle in front of him, but stopped himself as he realized he was standing in front of a simple beach house perched on a beach, its white sand finer than any he had ever seen. The house was an ordinary beach house, standing square and non-descript, a wooden patio facing the ocean, house and patio both covered in peeling white paint. The house sat about a quarter mile from the shore and at least a half-mile away from the nearest beach house, which was also white and non-descript, much like the house Sark and Simon stood in front of. 

_This is where I'm to meet Simon's employer?_ _What happened to the castle with the wrought-iron gates and the thorny rose garden? _Careful to hide his confusion, Sark pondered how he could have seen something that so obviously wasn't there. _I must've fallen asleep again in the limo and dreamt about what I was expecting to happen. _

"So it appears Rip Van Winkle has finally decided to grace us with his presence. My employer will be very pleased as well."

Simon's words confirmed Sark's suspicions that he'd fallen asleep again while in the limo. _Get your bloody head back in the game, idiot! _Sark dutifully followed Simon into the house, down a short hallway and into a bedroom. Simon flicked a switch, filling the room with soft white light. The tiny room had plain white walls; they were the same color as the exterior of the house, although the paint inside was in considerably better condition. A full-sized bed sat in the middle, taking up most of the room. There was a small table with a reading lamp next to the bed. A small closet took up the wall on the other side of the bed, and a tiny dresser sat between the closet and the door. All of the furniture was nicked and worn, as if each piece had seen a lot of use. Intent on examining the bedroom, Sark had forgotten Simon was in the room until he cleared his throat, demanding Sark's attention. "My employer will be meeting with you shortly, Mr. Sark. I have some business to attend to, but we will be seeing each other again later." Simon brusquely left the room and locked the door before Sark even had a chance to answer.

You're losing your touch, Sark. You have to get out of that damn dream world you've been in all day and focus on the task at hand! Don't forget you're being held captive. You can't afford to be an oblivious idiot; it could cost you your life! 

Sark glanced around the room looking for a way out besides the door that he had come in. _The first rule of being a spy: Always have an exit route planned. You never know when you're going to need it._ He tried the door first, knowing the futility of doing so. _Damn, Simon really did lock me in. Let's try the window then. _ He pulled open the curtains covering the tiny window. _I think I could fit through that, but just barely. Maybe there's another way out._ Sark began feeling the walls and floor, looking for loose boards that might be hiding a secret passageway. In the midst of his search, a key turned in the lock, and a familiar female voice interrupted his casing of the room. "Hello, Sark. Trying to leave so soon? You know it's rude to leave without saying goodbye to the host, or in this case, hostess."

Sark froze when he heard the voice. _That's not Irina's voice. It sounds almost like Allie, but it can't be her. Allie's dead. _Careful to hide the sorrow he felt thinking of the loss of Allie, Sark turned to look at the woman who had walked into the room. He choked at the sight of chocolate brown skin, long dark hair, cold eyes and a mischievous smile. _This can't be real. There's just no way it could be her. _"Dear God, this can't be possible. Allie? Is that really you, love? I thought you were dead." Sark sat down on the edge of the bed, a stunned expression on his face.

Allison shut the door and closed the distance between herself and Sark so that she stood right in front of him, smiling at the unnerved Sark staring up at her. She chuckled softly and her eyes twinkled with amusement. "Now what made you think that Sark?" she purred, as she sat on his lap. "Is that what the CIA told you?" 

He was silent for a moment as her right index finger traced the line of his jaw. He wrapped his arms around her waist, needing to touch her and know that she was real. _She's real. Allie's really alive and she's sitting on my lap_. He craned his neck upwards to examine the face of the love he thought he'd lost. _She's beautiful as ever, although I preferred her old look to this one. _"Nobody ever told me explicitly that you were dead, Allie, but I know that a body was taken out of Bristow's apartment after you were compromised and that both Tippin and Bristow survived the encounter. So far as anyone knew, you were the only other person there besides those two. If that wasn't your body they took from the rubble of the apartment, then who's was it?"

Allison smiled at Sark, fingers lightly running up and down his right arm. She leaned closer to him and whispered softly in his ear "Does it really matter? Isn't it enough that I'm still alive?"

Sark's grip on Allison's waist tightened. _Of course it matters, but there are more important matters at hand. I'll let it go for now. _"No, I suppose it doesn't. It's good to see you again, love." Unable to resist any longer, he kissed her passionately until they were both breathless.

"That was definitely worth the two year wait."

"There are a few other things I haven't done in the past two years I'd like to try." Sark grinned at her suggestively as his hands tugged at her top, silently requesting that she remove the offending article of clothing.

Allison took Sark's hands in her own and kissed him softly as she gently removed herself from his embrace. She sighed and ran her fingers through her long hair. Sark smiled as he watched her fidget. _She always used to tease me when I did that._

 "As much as I want this – want _you_ - we'll have to wait until later to get reacquainted, Sark." 

_Damn woman and her games! _ "Whatever it is, it can wait, Allie." Sark got up from his seat on the bed and stood behind Allison, wrapping his arms around her. "It's been two years since we've been together and I intend to make up for lost time." He planted a kiss in her hair.

Allison sighed again, torn between her loyalty to her employer and her desire for Sark. Finally, she mumbled, "I'm sorry Sark, but at this very moment, my employer is standing on the other side of that door waiting to speak with you."

Sark let go of Allison, shocked as he processed what she had just said. Allison took the opportunity to put a little distance between herself and Sark. _Employer?__ I thought **she** was Simon's employer! If she's not Simon's employer, then who is? _"Your employer? So you're not the one who put this whole operation together to extract me?" Sark stared at Allison, disbelief written all over his face. The disbelief quickly turned into anger. _If Allie was alive, she would've tried to extract me a long time ago. Whoever this is, it's not my Allie._ "This is a trap, isn't it? You're not really her. Allison's dead!" Enraged, he slammed Allison into the wall and used his body to hold her in place as he strangled her.

Allison gasped for breath and began to choke as Sark cut off her air supply. As she squirmed against Sark, she managed to free her right arm and punched Sark in the face as hard as she could. He staggered backwards and landed on the bed. 

Allison looked at him and shook her head sadly. "I would've gotten you out a lot earlier if I had had the resources to do so." 

Sark jumped to his feet again, and lunged at Allison. Just as he was about to pin her against the door, it opened from the outside, and Sark landed on top of Allison as they both tumbled into the hallway.

"I see you two have wasted no time in getting reacquainted." Sark looked up to see a familiar face smiling down at him.

A/N: Don't hate me because Allison's alive! Sorry, **sweetness**, is it any consolation that Allison probably won't survive this fic?


	4. Double Dilemma

Happy Easter! Here's an update for you!

**Chapter 4 – Double Dilemma**

Sark stared out the window at the fluffy white clouds whizzing by as the plane sped back to Irina's headquarters. _I'm sick and tired of flying. I've spent most of the last f*****g days on this damn plane.  Finally, I'm out of that damn cell and I can't even enjoy it.  All I want is a comfortable bed to sleep in and a couple days of solitude.  Maybe I can get Irina to give me some time off since the op went so well tonight._

_~ __Chicago__, earlier that evening ~_

Miles Rhenquist, the owner of the Chicago Tribune and other assorted Chicago media outlets, was in possession of a small scrap of parchment that was part of one of Rambaldi's manuscripts.  Alone, the manuscript piece had little value because it was impossible to decipher without the rest of the page, which nobody had seen in over a hundred years. However, Irina had recently discovered and subsequently acquired the rest of that particular page, making this scrap extremely valuable to her.

The operation had been a fairly simple one. He and Allison attended a ball at the Rhenquist estate and stole the artifact while they were there. Since the gala was extremely exclusive, Sark and Allison were unable to get themselves added to the guest list. After researching the invitees, they selected a pair of guests, business associates planning to put in a bid for the Chicago Tribune, which Rhenquist was selling. At lunch that day, Allison had gained entry to their suite by posing as part of the hotel's room service staff. She reported that the pair was so shocked to see Allison pointing a gun at them, that they had been incapable of speech. She had quickly killed the pair, both with a single shot to the forehead and stolen their invitations for the gala. After disposing of the uniform she had borrowed, Allison had returned to their room, invitations in hand, and a triumphant smile on her face. 

She and Sark had used the pair's invitations and had attended the gala posing as Edward Cummings & Katherine Davis, aspiring newspaper moguls from Los Angeles. They arrived at the ball fashionably late ensuring that Rhenquist's mansion would be filled with guests and their presence or absence would easily go unnoticed.  Sark was dressed in a black tuxedo and Allison in a form-fitting black-sequined dress with a slit to her knee on the right side. The dress showed just enough leg and cleavage to tantalize but was still conservative enough that Allison could play the role of the proper businesswoman that Rhenquist preferred to deal with.  

Edward and Katy walked into the black tie gala arm-in-arm and were soon lost amongst the crowd.  It took them almost no time to find Rhenquist, at which point Katy excused herself to go to the ladies room while Edward chatted Rhenquist up.  Sark thought he might go crazy as he listened to Rhenquist blabber on about the Cubs chances of winning the World Series this year.  _How long is he going to go on about that blasted baseball team of his? I don't give a f**k about baseball. I don't understand how Americans can be so fascinated by it. Now, football, or soccer as these morons call it, is a real sport._

After what seemed like an eternity to Sark, but was in reality only fifteen minutes, Allison returned with the manuscript fragment securely tucked into her purse.  After assuring Rhenquist that they would be in touch, Edward & Katy politely excused themselves and left the gala. Rhenquist continued rattling on about his baseball team, unaware that he had even been robbed.  

_~ Back to present day in the plane ~_

_People are so damn predictable.  Why does everyone keep everything important in a safe behind a painting in their study? Can't people think of a more original place to hide their valuables?_  Sark shook his head in amusement.

"Hey baby, a penny for your thoughts?" Sark's reverie was interrupted by Allison's sultry voice as she slid into the plush seat next to his.  She had changed out of her evening gown into a black leather mini-skirt and a sleeveless red V-neck top with a plunging neckline.  Sark had also changed out of his tuxedo, into one of his trademark Armani suits. It wasn't his preferred attire, but he always wore the Sark persona when away from his residences and the expensive suits were a part of that.

Sark replied dismissively, "There's just a lot to think about is all."

"You think too much, Sark." Allison mumbled as she slowly traced patterns along his leg.

_I wish you would just leave me alone. _Still staring silently out the window, Sark grabbed Allison's wrist and dropped her hand back in her lap. Allison's eyes flashed angrily at his rejection. She roughly seized Sark's chin and forced him to make eye contact with her. Before she could say anything, Sark sprang up from his seat. Tightly gripping Allison's shoulders, he pinned her against the couch.

"Do not touch me unless I give you permission to do so," Sark sneered.

"Why are you being this way? Don't you remember how great we were together?" Allison screamed at him, her eyes shooting daggers at her former lover.

_She looks so much like Allie after she was doubled, but yet I'm not sure it's really her. If Allie had been alive, she would've gotten word to me somehow or tried to rescue me at some point during those two years. Whoever this is, I don't think it's my Allie.  _"You're not my Allie. She's dead," Sark responded quietly.

"Nearly dead, yes. I was in a coma for months from the injuries Bristow inflicted upon me. After that, I had to undergo a rather extensive rehabilitation to get my skills back up to where they were before. I've only recently started going on ops again."

Sark continued to stare blankly at Allison, but she could see the internal war he was fighting by the slight twitching of his right eye. _I want to believe her, but I just can't right now. _ Lost in his thoughts, his grip on her shoulders loosened slightly. Allison took the opportunity to grab Sark's head and press her lips to his in a rough kiss. When he tried to pull away, Allison held on tighter, refusing to let the kiss be broken. When he tried to say something in protest, Allison slid her tongue into his mouth, refusing to let him speak. When he still continued to resist her advances, Allison snaked her other arm around Sark's back and pulled him closer to her, pressing his body tightly against hers. His mind protested, but after two years of forced abstinence during his incarceration, carnal desire overrode rational thought. Sark pushed Allison onto her back and lay down on top of her, molding her body to his. He passionately returned her kiss as he lost himself in her body.


End file.
